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11 My bride, your lips drip honey;
    honey and milk are under your tongue.
    Your clothes smell like the cedars of Lebanon.
12 My sister, my bride, you are like a garden locked up,
    like a walled-in spring, a closed-up fountain.
13 Your limbs are like an orchard
    of pomegranates with all the best fruit,
filled with flowers and nard,

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